Dealings in Death
by Jack of All Suits
Summary: When Jack Skellington said "he would give it all up if he only could", he wasn't expecting to be taken seriously! Now Jack has less than one year to pull off the best Halloween the world has ever seen to prove he can still be King


**Disclaimer: NBC belongs to the creative genius of Tim Burton, Danny Elfman, and Henry Selick. Thanks for bring it to us common folk!**

_**Chapter One: The Deal is Done**_

For someone who was most definitely dead, Jack Skellington was the kind of person who sighed quite a bit. When things didn't go his way, nothing made the Pumpkin King feel better than releasing a pent-up breath and watching the mist drift away in Halloween Town's perpetual autumn air. It made him think more rationally, and he liked the smell of the air– dead, yet alive, the same smell was reflected in the Real World when he performed his annual haunting.

On January the Fourth, Jack was sighing to keep his famous patience from snapping at long last as he watched the Mayor pitch the same ideas over and over again. He rubbed his eyesockets wearily and wondered what Sally was doing. Probably scrubbing the den... she had mentioned her desire to get his living quarters in 'royal condition', after all, and in the days following the Christmas incident she had held true to her word. The bedroom was absolutely spotless(A rare thing, as Jack had never been much for cleaning) and he had discovered for the first time that his kitchen stove really did work when one took time to remove the tar-like residue from some of his original cooking misadventures.

He wished he was with her, and _not _the Mayor. Jack wished he was with Oogie Boogie, at this point. At least he had cards.

"Jack? Jack, what color do you think would be best?"

Jack's skull slipped from where it had been resting on his palm and he looked up in surprise. "Wha–?" He said blearily, blinking rapidly before nodding as though it had all been completely absorbed into his overloaded mind. "I agree, Mayor. Absolutely. Werewolves were singing very off-key..."

It took all of his will-power to stifle a moan when the politician's unhappy face took over and Jack tried his best to smile comfortingly. "Just joking, Mayor. Could you just recite those last few colors to me again? I think I missed some." They were choosing pumpkins, as luck would have it, and the Mayor was incredibly adamant about finding the perfect shade of orange.

His happy face back in place, he grabbed the lengthy sheet of parchment and cleared his throat. "There's _Halloween _orange, _red _orange, _pumpkin _orange, _sunset _orange and a new shade I made up myself." Proudly the Mayor laid the pumpkins he had harvested of each color on the table, and Jack stared at them with a thoughtful stare before reining in another heavy-hearted sigh.

They were all the same bloody color to him.

Not that he could tell the Mayor that, of course.

Jack made every impression of a man hard at thought before nodding and pointing at the middle pumpkin blindly. "That one, I think, Mayor. That shade will look absolutely terrible."

"Ooh, I knew you would like Pumpkin orange, Jack! I just knew it!" The Mayor picked up the chosen vegetable reverently and his perpetual grin seemed to grow. "Now, speaking about those werewolves, I thought maybe we could get–"

Jack rubbed his eyesockets exaggeratedly and finally released the yawn he had been gathering in his chest all day. "I think we should call it a night, Mayor. We'll need all the energy we can muster to keep up at this pace, and we've been here," Jack looked at the clock they recently had posted inside the Town Hall and almost cried at the cruelty of it all. "We've been here for thirteen hours, and I do think we both should rest."

The Mayor seemed positively ecstatic at the idea of having spent thirteen hours of one-on-one time with the Pumpkin King himself, it was a very special thing, after all. Yet Jack had to make an amends for losing almost two months of Halloween planning with that Christmas fiasco, and at this rate they would still be behind when the time came to start rehearsals. "Right you are, Jack! We'll call this off now and continue tomorrow morning at eight again, shall we?"

For a moment Jack wanted to shake his head and give himself at least a few hours of time with Sally. She was all alone in the manor, and he felt awful for leaving early every morning and coming home late each day. Yet he couldn't. The planning was behind already, and as much as he didn't like it, Jack knew it was the Mayor's dogged insistence that kept the whole holiday in order. Jack just delivered the spooks.

He finally nodded to the Mayor and stood up, wincing as what felt like every bone in his body snapped into place again, and Jack threw in an extra stretch for good measure to ensure his knees didn't stiffen up as they often did when he sat down for excruciatingly long periods of time. Right now he just wanted to go home, to sleep, and to receive a good, long hug from a certain ragdoll before he went insane and used the Mayor as a football.

Getting to the manor, as always, was annoyingly complicated as Jack slipped through the alleyways and shadows, peeking around corners before scurrying into view and hiding again. It was the only way he could ever get home uninterrupted, and he really didn't want to put up with any more praising today. All Jack wanted was his own, cozy home.

Pulling open the door with relief, Jack slipped in and gently sealed the entrance again, tip-toeing into the main hall and looking around with a foolish grin. He wanted to startle Sally– not to be mean, but because he wanted a good chuckle after his excruciating day.

Jack was about to creep into the den when he heard Sally chatting with someone. He tilted his head and tried to peek around the corner, though he could only just glimpse the edge of Sally's legs, which were crossed as she sat on the newly-cleaned loveseat. He could hear the rustling of what he could only assume was a very well-covered person in the armchair as Sally's hand lowered her teacup onto the coffee table.

"Jack should be home soon, sir. I'm very sorry you've had to wait so long." She stood up and came towards the main hall with a tea tray in her arms. "I'll bring us some snacks, dinner should be ready soon, too."

Before Jack could move, Sally had collided with his bent body, and with a petrified squeal she flew onto the floor while he landed embarrassingly on his bottom. Only by catching each teacup on the fallen tray did he save any face at all. "Sally? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to spook you." He stood up and offered her a hand, which she gratefully accepted.

"That's something I'll have to learn to live with," She said softly, smiling weakly and taking the tray back. "There's someone here to see you... I don't really know..." Sally trailed off and gestured at the den passively.

Jack looked into the room and furrowed his brow. He was tired, and annoyed, and with unusually short patience. It seemed like no one in Halloween Town could go without his help for more than five minutes, anyway, and if this had anything to do with off-key werewolf singing...

"Hello, Jack."

Sneaky, getting behind him while he was distracted, but if they thought that would catch him off-guard–

Jack froze with his jaw hanging open in awe. All at once he backed up a few paces and scowled in a rare, unfriendly gesture. "I'm not supposed to get a visit from you for another twenty-three years." He said harshly. It was, after all, the best way to act when confronted with Death.

Death smirked beneath the thick hood of his cloak and tapped a skeletal finger against the thick ebony staff of his scythe, leaning forward and surveying Jack with interest. "Not here about your subjects' passing times, Jacky, I'm here with regards to you." He(It was assumed by those who had met him, that Death was a male) clicked his fingers and a scroll of parchment appeared in a flash of Hellfire. "Catch, Bone Man."

Instinctively Jack caught the document and looked suspiciously at Death, who had begun looking around the manor boredly. "Why would you be here about me? I've still got over two hundred years left."

Death looked at him– well, as well as a faceless entity can 'look'– and scoffed. "This would all go a lot smoother if you just read that damned letter."

Still hesitant, Jack peeled open the parchment and stretched out the surprisingly short letter, squinting slightly as he began to read:

_Dear Mr Jack Skellington,_

_You may notice that we did not employ your formal title of 'Pumpkin King of Halloween Land'. Well, this is a very simple matter. If you may recall, on one October Thirty-First of the human year Nineteen-Hundred-and-Ninety-Three, you made the request to be alleviated of your title._

_Our greatest apologies for the delay in acquiescing to your request, Mr Skellington. It is our great pleasure to employ the services of the Grim Reaper to carry your immortal soul beyond the living realm as par to the Rules, which clearly state: "Should a Pumpkin King's reign end voluntarily, it is the responsibility of the Council of Perennial Existence to arrange delivery to the Other Side"._

_Happy Haunting!_

_Sincerely, _

_Frederick Élan,_

_Head Chairman,_

_CoPE_

Jack looked at Death blankly, letting the information set in as his mouth slowly became dry. "What is this?" He finally exclaimed, crushing the letter in his fist and tossing it to the ground. "I didn't _say _that I wanted to Move On! You can't!" He glanced at Sally, who was now leaning against the doorframe with her eyes wide in terror as she read the discarded note.

Death tutted and folded his arms, leaning against his scythe, which seemed capable of standing and supporting his weight without any assistance. "You did, Jacky. Really should watch how you word things. '_He'd give it all up if he only could_'." It was a poor attempt to mime Jack's voice, but Death wasn't supposed to be a mimic. "You threw the Council a bone! Even I thought you were serious."

"_The point is that I __**wasn't!**_" Jack roared, finally losing any semblance of patience and causing Sally to scream while Death and his scythe toppled over at the force of his voice. Jack stalked over to the loveseat and sat down heavily, kneading his skull in his hands while Death pulled himself to his feet and sighed.

"I like you, Jacky. Always have. A bit emotional for my tastes," He met Jack's nasty glare and continued. "And I know you think I'm too cold and all that other junk," Death held up a skeletal hand to stop what he imagined would become an argument. "But you're a good person, and a damn good king. So I'm willing to strike a deal." Death sat in the armchair opposite Jack and played with the handle of his scythe, flinching when the blade drooped several inches and left a heavy scratch in the wall. "Sorry..."

"A deal?" Jack egged him on miserably while Sally slipped back into the room and took a seat next to him. It would be perfectly Death-like if the deal involved doing something so utterly insane that he might as well quit now.

Death scratched his head through the hood of his cloak and nodded. "Here's the deal. You make next Halloween the most horrible yet. With that I might be able to convince the Council to give you your allotted time back. Until then I'll keep them out of your nonexistent hair." He rubbed his hands together as Jack looked up suspiciously, but with a glimmer of hope.

"What's the catch?" He knew there had to be one. It wasn't like Death to make deals without rules.

Death chuckled darkly. "Glad you asked, Kid." He pulled out a clean sheaf of parchment and a quill, lowering the point to the paper and beginning to scrawl as he talked, bright red ink flowing from the seemingly empty instrument. "First of all, it has to be the worst in _your _opinion. It won't work even if every other ghoul in town dies again of fright. Second, you need to utilize _every _aspect of Halloween Town, however small a part it plays."

Jack nodded along and braced himself for what he dreaded would be the 'doozy'.

"Finally, by October Thirty-first, you _must _frighten at least one human to their premature death. Those are _my_ rules." Death held out a hand smugly.

Jack stared at him in shock before clenching his fist. "That's against the Rules!" He exclaimed bitterly.

"This is _my _game, Jack, and may I remind you that what I'm willing to do now is against the Rules, too. So pick the lesser of two evils, and hurry up, will you?" Death's grin was almost visible as he fiddled with his scythe.

Jack looked at Sally, who took advantage of his attention by taking his hand in her's gently, smiling as well as she could and making his stomach feel slightly less ill when he finally nodded to Death and took the outstretched hand, shaking it as quickly as he could before pulling away.

"Right then! I'll be off." Death stood up and dusted off his robes, tossing the parchment onto the table. "I'll be back every week to check the progress, so get hopping!" With a violent laugh the Reaper slammed the staff of his scythe against the floor and vanished, leaving Jack and Sally to mull over their fate.


End file.
